IC Story Thread: Ch.1,Ad.1 - A Sensitive Matter

It is late in the afternoon in the port city of Pelargir, and the sinking sun has set the sky aflame, singeing it into a wild gradient of orange.

This gateway of Gondor is bustling with activity, as trade ships coast in to the docks from the west, and seasonal workers migrate north, from the arid tracts of land that make up Harondor and the Harad to the south.

Over the centuries Pelargir has been a center of both culture and conflict for Gondor, due to it's positioning at the mouth of the Anduin River onto the Bay of Belfalas, and as the occasional (and current) southern border of Gondor.

Historically, it has also been a center of terrible woe - constituting the frontline of great wars and political strife for well more than 1,000 years of unstable relations between northern and southern nations. However! ... Now is a time of relative peace between the men of the southron lands, and Gondor and the other peoples of Middle-earth.

This once-great metropolis is struggling to emerge from a long period of decline. But it is, at this time, winning in it's struggle, and you can see it on the streets. Trade is growing, learned institutions have returned and are taking on new members, and there is even a lively and friendly exchange of cultures going on, available to anyone who seeks it.

You are a resident of the north side of Pelargir, the Gondor-governed portion of the city, which straddles both river and nations. You have been living there of your own accord and upon your own terms for some time now. However, recently, through a trusted friend you have heard - and heeded - a clandestine call, hailing any capable and available and true allies of the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth...

And so it is that you find yourself, in this moment, approaching Whistler's Wind, a firmly-Gondorian tavern you've heard of but never frequented much. It sits just a couple streets off of the commercial port. And, according to this hailing, you are to attend an audience with a naval officer of Gondor. The subject of which you do not exactly know the nature of, other than that supposedly the Free Peoples are in need of aid and this officer is desperate for help...

The matter, you're assured by your friend, whom passed along the word to you, is rather urgent and dire.

Upon casual observance, the people about appear to be very much who she would expect at this time of day, this near to the port - local denizens bearing water buckets home to wash up for the day, laborers dabbing at their brows and conversing after a hard day's work, shopkeeps sweeping up their fronts and preparing for close (as many do after sunset), perhaps even one or two folk precede her into the Whistler's Wind down the way.

Ragnarr can tell that just about no one is paying him as much attention, as he them. A scant few might have their eyes draw to his armaments, but not his face, and so their concerns seem to be genuinely their own.

This is true of most people outside and within the tavern.

However, as he searches for a seat, one man does draw his attention. A hard-looking man of middle age, wearing a padded jerkin, and a cloak in the colors and fashion of Gondor's military.

This man IS looking at the face of basically anyone who walks in through the front door. His stare isn't one of searching, but one of appraisal.

Ragnarr finds there are a handful of seats at the bar, but every table is occupied except for the largest one in the room, at which sits the man with the military cloak.

Duinhir was among some of the first people to show up in the Whistler's Wind that afternoon - the tavern not even opening until a few hours after mid-day. And he was able to watch it slowly begin to fill up, the lower the sun sank in the sky.

The military man arrived perhaps just five minutes before the arranged meeting time.

....

As Seonaid approaches, the man stands and gives a nod to her as she greets him and he motions to a seat "Please, and thank you for coming.", he says stiffly. And he offers a similar welcome to Ragnarr.His face seems to tighten slightly with some internal pain when he sees the youth in Cirion - barely more than a child, walking in the door spurred on by wide-eyed hope and determination - but he shows the young man a spot nonetheless.

"I am Andireg.", he says in low tones as introductions begin to fly.

His eyes dart back and forth from the couple of figures in the room, dressed in the garb of Southron folk, and the conversation at hand.

There is a low din filling the room, comprised of the loosening tongues of people who's day is gratefully ending. But Andireg shares none of that buoyancy.

Andireg gives only a single, sharp back and forth shake of his head, to show he has no objection, then, still speaking lowly but assuredly, he says, "M'lady, it is my business to guide and make stronger the wills of men who have made their choices. Not to make their choices for them.

You are welcome here, Cirion. And I thank you for coming."

Still standing, Andireg looks to Eothain and Duinhir as they approach and gives them a nod in greeting, "Well met. ... Rohan? Thank you, our old ally. And Duinhir is it? Welcome...", he rumbles in a basso tone and smiles a kind and genuine smile, and gives his own name again.

He begins motioning for people to have a seat if they've not already, and he casts his eyes out over the tavern room a final time. He had hoped this Duinhir - the armed man in a dark cloak marked with many many miles of travel he had noted in the corner when he walked in - had come to help. He had hoped there would be more, but this would have to be enough...

His attention returns to the table before him and sighs and nods resolutely, the table could seat twelve, but he offers a smile to the six who have joined him. It's a smile that looks like it had to cut through a bitter taste first but a smile nonetheless, "It looks as though this may be it. Again, welcome and thank you all for coming..."

He settles into his chair now, leans in over the table and begins speaking more quietly than he had before...

He runs his fingers down his jawline, pulling at a neatly trimmed beard and speaks on, "I cannot express how grateful I am, for you fine people to have answered such a call as this... I am Commander Erdan Andireg, of the Royal Navy, Third Fleet under Steward-King Turgon, First of His Name.

Allow me to explain some things.

As you have either assumed or surmised, I am the man, who issued this summons, such as it is. And I have done so because Gondor needs your aid...

You may be asking yourself; what problem could there possibly be, which Gondor's own military cannot address, that... five... disparate Free Peoples could possibly hope to fix?

Well, my friends - for true friends I hope you be, it is this...

Two days ago, a barquentine from Umbar, under a Southron state flag of trade, was docked at the commercial docks of Harlond outside Minas Tirith. A contingent of... unknown actors... from that ship made there way into Minas Tirith and abducted two children of a Gondorian official, while they played in a park."

He draws in a slow breath only briefly gathering his next words, staring through the table into the depths of the earth, but it presents a moment for any immediate questions or interjections from the five...

Andireg's eyes are pulled from the distance, below, to Ragnarr and Seonaid, he nods grimly at the exclamation.

To the woman of Minas Tirith, he replies, "She is a diplomat... THE diplomat, at the head of relations to the principalities of the Harad. And I agree, it is likely either an obvious attempt at provocation, or at the least to gain influence over her.

She is stationed in Umbar, and does not yet even know...

The ship had the river current and favorable winds, but a rider rode through the night, more than 100 miles, pushing their mount and themself to the point of collapse. And while they were not able to raise the alarm with our navy in time to stop the ship here, in Pelargir, we were able to track it's bearing. And it went south down the coast.

Again, you may ask, why not send our navy after it? This is where you all come in.

Now is... a sensitive time. And this is... a very sensitive matter.

There has hardly been a time in the past thousand years, like there is now, with relative peace between the Harad and Gondor...

And although I am a military man - duty and battle have made me who I am and provided for my family - although I am a military man, I do. Not. Love. War... My friends."

He pauses to the meaning behind his tale and words sink in.

"M'lady... the very fact that your are here indicates it, and you just said yourself, that you have the will to help. And, as a man that has made his life in battle, you may just have to trust me when I tell you that will is the vast majority of victory when there is a fight at hand."

"The ship was of a type that was, and is still, commonly used by the Corsairs in war. Shallow of keel, good for rivers, death for all aboard on the open sea in a storm. Following the last war, it was common for such raiding ships to be converted to merchant vessels... often under the same captain.

But, so, yes, we figure it is very likely that it is south-bound for Umbar which is still ruled by the Corsair-Kings and the center of everything for their ilk.

Of the captors, we know little. Their descriptions were of Southron men, no distinguishing marks visible. The ship is the distinguishing thing. Find the ship to find the children, it's our only link.

We hope that they are some sort of rogue-actors amongst the Corsairs... If it was a larger plan, that would mean they all wanted war, and if that was the case, they could just start pirateering in our seas or raiding the coasts and it would actually immediately profit them as well as achieve that goal.", he wags his head.

When he speaks on, he sounds as much as though he is trying to convince himself of the truth, as you all, "No. This must be some sort of maneuvering. Which we hope will mean that we have time, for you all to succeed.

The Harad benefits from a peace just as we do. And so if their first goal is to immediately provoke us into war, and we don't take the bait, then they'll have to use the children as political leverage to achieve anything with them. And politicking takes time."

Looking to Eothain, he nods sharply, "I'm certain I can scrounge up some manner of map by morning. And I have access to a small war-chest from which I can furnish you with some funds.

We hope we have time, but it is only a hope. I would urge you all to leave for Umbar as quickly as you can complete any preparations."

Andireg shakes his head, no, to Duinhir, "The father was there with them at the time of the abduction and no demand was made. And there's been no other communications that we're aware of. That said, please leave any communications with the Lady Diplomat to us. We are drafting and sending official communication."

Looking to Eothain, "We could move your horse to a military stable, where it will be cared for as one of our own, if that is acceptable?

However, if you plan to travel by ship, you are unlikely to find standard passage available until several days, or perhaps even a week or more from now. The passenger ships are generally fully reserved well in advance.

It is not the most direct path, however the Harad Road is a good road, and the trip by foot takes maybe two weeks at a leisurely pace. By sea, on a passenger vessel with it's additional port stops, is still 7 days. So there may be little or nothing to gain by seeking ship passage.

However, I leave that choice to you."

Andireg nods at Cirion's words, "We really don't know much of the details of the attack or conflict, our rider was dispatched so quickly there was no time for him to gather a full report, particularly of the initial abduction attempt which he was not present for.

We know the father is alive - whatever happened, and an elder child - a brave daughter of Gondor - escaped, proving too much to be bodily hauled off if the captor were to still escape, and that's about it.

We expect to have a full report in the morning by carrier pigeon, but our rider is all we have at this point.

We know the abduction was well coordinated from the enemy's end.

They had men to bodily haul the children - escaping with the two younger - they had a group to run interference upon any guard intervention - employing nets to hinder chase, and even one man with an old iron implement well used by the Corsairs in the past to stop the outer gate from closing from above.

Our rider was dispatched before he could even know the resolution of the final fight upon the docks, but at least two of their number were downed, and three lept into the river as their ship sailed away.

And we do have military ships that could sail, but again, any such ship sailing into the waters of the Harad would be a reciprocation of this aggression and a possible provocation to greater conflict, not to mention, it would ruin any chance that you all will now have at surprise..."

He draws a slow breath, and takes what looks like his first drink from the ale that has sat before him all this time, "It sounds as though you are all in, I can't express the gratitude that Gondor has for you in this time.

One final thing. There is a contact in Umbar that you should seek out upon your arrival. A dwarf of the Lonely Mountain... his name is Onar and he is a scholar and a smith. He is a true friend of the Free Peoples and, although he will have no knowledge of this attack, he will be able to help you as a relative-local with knowledge of the city.

You can find him here...", he slides a folded paper into the table with an address.

"Unless there is anything else, I suggest you all get your rest, and I will meet you all at the south gate in the morning with the map, and the funds from the war-chest?"

Being from Lake Town you both know at least something of the working of ships and docks, and so when Ragnarr confers with Bob, you both agree that probably some sort of harbor master - or their ledger - would be best to try and learn anything about the Storm-tide. As for it's crew or their activities? You can't really fathom what/who would yield anything there, other than just if you were to get lucky questioning a person that happened to see and pay attention to them (doesn't mean there ISN'T someone, just you guys can't think of who that would be).

Ragnarr will search for the Harbor master and ask him for any information he can get about the ship Storm-Tide. I’m hoping this background feature will assist in gettting information from him.

No one you speak with knows anything specific about the Storm-tide, which since it is a ship from the south (and so would most likely deal in more exotic things), and since your contacts deal more in exotic goods - that says something in itself. Namely that the ship probably hasn't been sailing as a trade ship for very long, at least not while trading it's most likely cargo.

Beyond that the input she gets back pretty much comes down to the fact that any ship coming from the Harad, destined for Minas Tirith directly, probably wouldn't have stopped for long in Pelargir. Otherwise it would just offload it's goods there and head back south for the next load. The trip up river is slow, and hazardous due to the potential shifting of the channel. And it's not a long enough journey that the ship would need to stop here and reprovision, or let the crew off lest they go insane. They likely just passed through.

However it would HAVE to make one stop in Pelargir, and that would have just been a quick anchorage for a customs-type inspection to ensure there wasn't an army on board/that it's carried goods matched a registered bill of lading.

Things like it's cargo and crew size could be found on that registered document, as well as who was to receive the shipment at it's destination, but that document is basically just a piece of paper in a large stack of papers somewhere now, waiting for some commerce ministry to review it.

The rays of the rising sun are tinted orange this morning, perhaps by some wildfire burning far to the east, and the air is crisp and cool - a pleasant spring morning, despite a towering bank of clouds standing out over the Bay of Belfalas threatening the afternoon.

As you all approach the south gate, you can spot Andireg from some ways away upon a horse, although he is wearing fully civilian garb this morning. No raiment or colors of Gondor at all, really just his fine broadsword in it's sheath, dangling from his saddle to indicate he is any sort of warrior.

You also notice he has a small, wicker cage strapped to the rear skirt of his saddle with a small bird inside it.

His smile upon seeing you is wreathed in hope and gratitude, and he nods to each of you as you gather.

He hands over a buckled leather pouch that jingles with coin, and takes up the cage as well, "This is a carrier pigeon. The father is sick with grief, and our generals are making preparations for any greater military response, should it be necessary. Please send word once you have the children, or if there is any other... more significant development.

The Lady Diplomat should have a full report of what is going on by the time of your arrival. I would encourage you to not meet with her however, unless you believe you can do so under the utmost secrecy. Again we do not know who is behind this, and where they might have ears and eyes...

Gondor does have a small embassy that is currently staffed in Umbar. And you should take the children there upon their safe retrieval. That is where their mother is, and you all will be able to make a return journey under military escort...

Eh...", he lets out a heavy sigh, and searches for more words.

"I don't know what else there is to be said, other than, again, Gondor and all the Free Peoples of the North owe you a debt for your aid, and may Tulkas be at your back."

Agreed let us move while the daylight is in front of us!

As the party embarks upon the ancient Harad Road, the sun-drenched expanse of Harondor unfolds before you like a tapestry of contrasts.

A surprising touch of spring-like coolness continues to fill the usually arid air, carrying the subtle scent of blooming desert flora. The transition to a desert's harshness still seems a long way off, and it grants the beginning of your journey a feeling of leisurely respite.

The sandy soils, which you might have expected to be parched and unforgiving, are currently bearing traces of new life along the roadside, as delicate wildflowers dot the landscape with bursts of color, harmonizing with the earthy tones of rugged escarpment.

On either side of the road, the northern reaches of the Harad lay before you on the horizon. Rolling dunes barely discernable in the distance, kissed by golden sunlight. Towering sandstone mesas stand as silent sentinels watching your approach, their rugged beauty defying the relentless passage of time.

The first few days at least pass easily as you progress along the Harad Road, the merging of this spring-like vitality with the stark beauty of the approaching desert leaves an indelible impression. This unexpected harmony in nature's rhythms seems to mirror the journey of you all as you travel this ancient path, a reminder that even in the harshest of landscapes, the promise of renewal and growth can persevere.

You do see many travelers at this stage on the road with you, some going south - most of them peeling off in the first day or two to return to local settlements, but many are heading north. And of those, most appear to be fairly small groups of simple folk - traveling workers, craftsmen, merchants - but it is on the third day of your journey when you spot a larger contingent heading your way from the south. Perhaps a dozen people, a few of them on horseback, and from this distance you think they may be armed.

They could be nothing - perhaps just a wealthy caravan under armed guard - or, the Corsair Ship-Lords are in control here, they could be hostile Haradrim looking for Northerners worth shaking down...

Eothain figures that getting any closer, to try to discern their exact nature any better, would just as likely allow them to discover you.

Cirion notes that you're all going into a dip in the road, and you will have the cover of hill for several minutes in which you could get away from the road. If you all are to avoid them, now is the time to do it.

Cirion leads the company off the road and follows a wash-out a good 200 meters to the bottom of, and around, the hill ahead.

It's impossible at that point to make any sort of visual contact with the approaching contingent, without affording them the same opportunity to observe you, and so he does his best to match the pace they were making and tries to mirror their progress down the road with the company's progress around the hill, keeping the mound in between the two parties the whole time.

And he must do a fine job of it because by the time you all re-emerge back onto the road you can see the contingent must be a kilometer past the dip where you went off road, along the way north.

And they either don't look back, or they don't notice your passage if they do, or perhaps their business was such that they wouldn't care to double-back upon you if they did.

And so it is you are able to move beyond them without further trouble and really without lost time.

From there the days become progressively warmer as you continue south, and you draw closer and closer to the true southern border of Harondor and the North - the Harnen River. And it is upon the seventh day, after you've began a slow decent into the Harnen River valley, when the landscape begins to look as you had always been told the Harad would look.

The soils of tan or gray silt and loam give way to hard and cracking ruddy clays and stone and blowing sands. The mesas and canyons still carry a foreign type of beauty, but as you leave behind your familiar land, that foreign-ness may begin to feel more like isolation and the simple threat that resides within anything that is an unknown.

And it is in the Harnen valley that you first begin to encounter the hollow remnants of ancient wars fought between North and South.

Towers with foundations of northern granite arranged in familiar northerner's ways, but now with limestone materials and the structural style of the South standing upon their architectural bones. A reminder of past victories and recent defeats - and the deaths of the many that paid for each. You move past them, but it seems there is always another such ruin around the next bend.

When the day is nearly done, and the heat is at it's peak before it must relent with the setting sun, and the city of Tharven - the last city before entering the true Harad - is in sight... the road passes through what appears to be a great graveyard.

No doubt the site of some old battle ground. And around you in all directions stretch small stone monoliths, and cairns, and in some cases carved statues marking the thousands of spots where someone died. The implacable stone figures standing like thousands of spectres-made-real, watching you pass, jealous of the life you still have, and unforgiving and unyielding with their gaze.

The weight of the Shadow presses upon you all here, and some in the company are better able to handle it than others. Even though no great amount of time is spent there, the expansive grave site and it's stone sentinels claw at your minds and your hearts, and threaten to pull them into their darkness.

Even after moving beyond it, physically, and into the relatively vibrant town of Tharven, it's feeling remains with you for some time, dragging at your thoughts.In the following days, you move out of the Harnen River valley and it's ruddy canyon walls and into the true desert of the Harad.

The road gradually becomes of a lesser quality here, cobbles are cracking and turning to dust - never having been replaced in what must be centuries, low and long drifts of sand snake across it at irregular intervals, but it is at least still far better than traveling through the trackless wilderness.

The sun and the wind become unrelenting, and it taxes your resources as they have not yet been taxed.

If there is one good thing about it, perhaps it is that as the land becomes more and more barren it becomes harder and harder for any potential threat to conceal itself from you all. Although you know you all are similarly exposed... You see virtually no Northerners now, upon the road. Or at least none that you can tell by their dress. And so it is easier for the feelings of isolation and exposure to grow.

And so it is, in the second week of your journey, that you find yourselves overlooking a likely camping spot for the night, a ways off the road down a steep embankment.

It is a wide, flat area encircled by a ring of large rectangular stones arrayed around it's perimeter at several points, with an inner circle of smaller rectangular stones inside that, of which there must be more than twenty.

Indeed the spot seems ideal for a camp!

Level ground, good drainage around it, sheltered from the scouring winds, there's even a spot in the center to hold a fire - although there hasn't been one there in probably a couple weeks by Duinhir's estimate. There's no buildings or fencing or signage to be seen around so it doesn't even appear to be anyone in particular's property. None of the shaped stones seem to bear any symbology, nor writing, so there's not even anything vaguely sinister about the arrangement.

It may very well be a purpose built camp site for weary travelers!?

And so there you're all able to make your evening meals and other preparations and bed down for the night, with no trouble and even some degree of comfort!

However... a bit before dawn, and before you're all well rested, a group of Southron folk walk up into the camp site.

They're not armed, and indeed they appear to be relatively simple villagers. Many are of advanced age walking only with the aid of tall sticks, or younger helpers.

But they do seem to start insisting that you all must leave the area. They speak in the Southron tongue so it's perhaps hard to know exactly what they're saying, but they gently wake each of you, wrapping on the hard ground with their walking sticks and making soft but firm exclamations to get your attention (Eothain is perhaps able to recognize some formal greetings in there), and they're certainly making some sort of polite explanation with their words and gestures to the clearing, but they also make vigorous shoo-ing motions.

A few of them break off the hard heels of a bread they have in bindles, and hold those out, beckoning you to take the meager sustenance, before you get on your way.

Seonaid tries her various languages out upon the early morning new-comers, and it's hard to tell if or how much they understand, but it does spur one of the younger helpers to say, in a heavily accented version of Westron, "Go. Please, go.", along with a string of more Southron.

The trek back up to the road requires a significant climb with many switch backs, and it's mostly in full view of the great clearing.

And so you can see as you leave, that once you've cleared the space, the older members of their group simply sit on the smaller stones that make up the inner circle and start a fire, eventually placing a pot over it to boil, and begin chatting. And in the meanwhile the younger helpers begin to erect poles that make a framework for what will probably be a sun-shade to cover the inner circle during the day.

It's hard to say exactly what kind of gathering is taking place but it appears that these folks just had some manner of gathering scheduled out here on this day, and were arriving early to get everything prepared before the heat of the day. The sun is just about to rise by the time you crest the edge of the ridge, and they are nearly finished with their set up.

Regardless of their intent, their arrival and need of the space stirred you all from your restful slumber at a time when good sleep was most needed. And it's a dour beginning to the day and the last leg of your journey.

In the last few days of the journey the land begins to shift away from highland desert, toward arid steppe, and eventually coastal lowlands where things begin to turn green again.

And the last two days in particular it is perhaps comforting to see the familiar geometry of agriculture carved into the land, as sprouting fields and leafing vineyards begin to create a patchwork over the falling hills out into the distance.

You can see Umbar from many miles away as you approach, indeed most of the last day of travel you can first see the peaks of it's tallest towers and buildings, of which there are many, and their tops are shaped rather like upside down onions. Bulbous and round on the bottom and drawn up into a pointed spire at the top. Then the undulating forms of its blocky architecture come into view, much the same color as the pale terracotta soils beneath them, stretching to the sea. And finally it's tan and yellowish tall city walls.

Umbar is not as spread out as Pelargir, but it has more verticality built into it, and you figure it must house as many people or more.

As you draw closer to the gates you can see that, at the moment, there is quite the throng of people trying to get through. But there is some sort of hold up.

Most of the commotion is in Southron and so it's perhaps hard to know exactly what's going on at first but eventually you find yourselves standing before an official au the gate. They are able to speak in Westron, and they tell you that there is a minor refugee crisis in the east, and so there is more procedure to enter and remain in the city than normal, you will have to present yourselves to a city clerk for registration.

You're all lead into a room in the gatehouse, following many others before you, and there are many after you still waiting. And you all stand before a magister of some sort sitting at a writing desk, on an elevated platform.

He says something very formal sounding in Southron, and an interpreter of some sort translates a dry, rambling official lecture about Umbar, that is part cautionary-welcome, but mostly a warning about laws and expectations, that culminates in a request, "Please state your names and your business in the great city of Umbar."

The magister nods along as Ragnarr speaks, and then says through the interpreter, " The Magister recognizes Lake Town and your Peoples' great triumph over the dragon.

And while commerce is always welcome, Umbar's resources are heavily taxed right now, with a refugee crisis.

Do you have a sponsor who will speak in your name, or signatory document? If not it is simply a matter of paying for the service.

And are you bringing any goods into the city for trade? We may have to assess a customary tariff."

The magister winkles his nose like he just smelled or tasted something nasty at Ragnarr's explanation, and then further works his mouth soundlessly for a moment like he's swallowing the distasteful thing, while he writes upon a scroll before him.

Ultimately he says through his interpreter, "The magister sees it fit only that you pay the administrative fee for signatory to your stay. Should representation be required by you in your stay, you will pay it at that time, no duty tariff was assessed.

1 silver pence a piece, and you may go."

The interpreter points to a small but heavy, ironbound chest near the door, and the magister has already moved on to review notes for the next case.

...

Entering into Umbar, you are still far from the sea yet the fetid smells of salt water already intermingle with the dust and spice and frying flatbreads that seems to dominate the air here.

It's structures are tall and tiered and plastered in a muddy stucco, white-washed with a limestone-powdered sealant. Almost blinding to look upon at the wrong angle.

The streets are seemingly disorganized, appearing to have grown simply out of the need to accommodate more people, rather than any plan, however you are able to find your way to the smithy where your contact is purportedly residing after some time.

And so it is that the company comes upon the location of the forge where Andireg said they could find their contact.

It's a ground-level unit with a moderately-sized courtyard-like space set off to the side of it, shaded by large triangles of canvas, except the courtyard is filled with the accoutrement of smithing - anvils, troughs of water, barrels of coke, and of course a handful of bellow-worked forges around the periphery.

It looks like there is a business-front associated with it, and some of the equipment appears to be dedicated to that, however the rest of the equipment is made available for people to use on a commission basis.

Andireg's directions do not mention the business, so the dwarf you all seek must be a commission worker.

You all can tell, you're not the only Northerners in Umbar, indeed maybe as much as 1 in 3 people dress in the styles of the Coastal People that inhabit, well, the coasts between Umbar and Gondor. Most of the Coastal folk are true Harondorian, and are generally considered Northron by the people of the Harad (and it should be noted, many people of Gondor might consider the Coastal People Southron).

But your company's specific stylings, particularly armor if you're wearing it, weaponry, and even clothing (cloaks, boots, gloves, etc), can mark you as even more Northern than that, just by virtue of being built of materials and cuts that serve a different function and purpose than are of a demand here.

And of your stylings, you have seen very few.

So when Seonaid looks to see if anyone is paying you all special attention, it could be said that, yes, they are. You are, in a real way, special here. So people walking by, or whom you walk by, tend to find their eyes lingering upon your contingent if for no other reason than you're just something a bit different than the usual, and so, eye-catching.

Seonaid is able to clock a couple people going about surreptitious activities... over there, a small child - dirty feet almost black they've not been washed in so long - timing a vendors roaming gaze to snatch a small roll from under his nose... over there, a man trying to hide the fact from the woman he walks arm in arm with that he's leering at another woman... but anyone she sees looking at her or her company are doing so openly, and really for no longer than the few moments it takes to register their own mundane wonder before moving on. And she feels fairly certain no one's following them, or if they are, they'd must be very good.

The big talk in town is the refugee crisis - Onar has it on good authority that the influx of peoples are primarily coming from the north and east, a nation called Khand - south of the Mordor region, where some manner of migration of orcs has displaced thousands and thousands of the Easterlings.

That's by far the most important event on the lips and minds of Umbar.

And Onar hasn't heard anything about any abductions, but in the past few days, he has heard rumors that there is some sort of feuding going on amongst some of the Corsair Ship Lords. It's not a rare thing for one or two to have quarrels, but it sounded like this was something different then the standard pissing matches. He figures that could be related to your mission because otherwise things have been pretty quiet - dormant even - amongst the Corsairs, and so the timing of the two seems just a bit more than coincidence.

The section of Umbar primarily inhabited by the Corsairs is the oldest part of the city. It grew up and around the water's edge, snaking along the undulating terrain of the rocky shore, there are even small islands out in the bay that have their own structures and docks built upon them.

And while the mainland docks are well built and maintained, they are not by any stretch well planned or organized. They were originally constructed as far-flung bases of operation, at a time when the Corsairs sailed as individual pirateering operations and so each dock belonged to a specific ship and captain, and security and privacy and having everything a ship could need at one dock was the priority.

Well, while that lack of organized purpose has went away, the disparate structures of the docks were set literally in stone, and so the modern city and docks just grew up around and in between the old, and it has resulted in a winding series of streets, and alleys, and boardwalk, and docks that encircle the rocky bay in layers like an onion. Complex and difficult to navigate.

For those physically searching for the ship, there are structures that can hinder or help your search - both clearly directly associated with the Corsairs and not, and there are people who may hinder or help your search - both clearly directly associated with the Corsairs and not.

It is up to you what methods you use to try to achieve your goal, given these circumstances.

For those using more passive means to try to get ppl to divulge knowledge of the ship's location, there's any number of taverns you can go to. Seemingly as many places to cavort as there are ships in the bay. So you may choose any one or multiple establishments, in which you try to loosen tongues and dislodge unwitting bits of knowledge that might help you. Corsairs are as well known for their loyalty to their Ship-Lords, but also for their braggadociousness and debauchery off the ship.

It is up to you what methods you use to try to achieve your goal, given these circumstances.

It's hard to say, for Onar, Ragnarr, and Duinhir... perhaps they are being too passive, or perhaps they're just not in the right place, or it's not late enough for lips to loosen as much as needed? But all is not lost, there's still plenty of time left and plenty of ales un-drank...

The efforts in the tavern bear no fruit early on, and so the contingent of Onar, Ragnarr, and Duinhir must continue into the wee hours of the morning in order to discover the portion of the docks where their ship-in-question might be.

It is an exhausting effort for the three, mentally, and to be allowed to stay in the tavern, they must eventually and periodically purchase food and/or drink to simply not get kicked out to make room for other patrons. And so the longer the night stretches the more expensive it becomes.However, ultimately, as the sun's light begins to turn the black-of-night in to the grey of early-morn, they do catch word of, "...that fool Ibn-Ahten...", over on Easterly Rock, "bringing children into the situation...", from the lips of some salty-dog.

But almost as soon as the man has said it, his eyes go wide, possibly realizing he's said too much to strangers, and he puts down his tankard in a hurry and goes to leave the tavern, with a final glance at the three as he goes...

Duinhir is able to follow the man, who is inebriated and stumbling and not very aware, a short ways away to where he stops before the door of a ramshackle hovel, swaying slightly, and he begins to fumble in his pockets for something......

At the docks, things do not fair much better for Seonaid, Cirion, and Eothain... enlisting the street urchins seems like a very good idea, but perhaps they have troubles finding you all again, or perhaps they just ran off with your coin? It's unknowable, and just walking around the docks, looking, doesn't seem to yield the results hoped for early on. And so the three must push further and further into the evening to achieve their goal. At one point, you're all even accosted by ruffians - perhaps you were just in the wrong part of the docks at the wrong time, or perhaps they thought you looked like easy marks - and you had to fight.

By the end of it, the sun is well up by the time you all return to Onar's and are able to sync up your findings to know the location of the ship.

Easterly Rock was a sign you all saw in your search of the docks and you can even recall seeing a ship there and the layout of the dock - perhaps the name was obscured by crates or something else, and so you were unable to identify it then. But when the Tavern crew gives you the name and location they heard, you can all put the pieces together and begin to formulate your next steps.

Easterly Rock Area
Easterly Rock, docks - Storm-tide

The man is making no effort to be silent, so Duinhir is able to hear what little that goes on inside with little trouble.

No light illuminates the cracks around the door, and so the man stumbles around inside a bit, possibly running into one or more pieces of furniture, possibly opening a cabinet or two? There's some incomprehensible mumbling. Some shuffling of ceramic-ware. A bit of a silent pause. And then the resonance of footsteps upon some stairs before all sound trails out of range his range of perception.

...

It is mid-morning before Seonaid and Cirion make it back to Easterly Rock. And as they approach the small branch of the neighborhood and dock where they are to put on their fishing charade, they can see it's kind of busy here right now. Seemingly busier than a lot of the other neighborhoods or docks they can see or walk past.

The activity seems to mainly consist of ... it's hard to say, maybe people who are moving? Like out of their homes or stores? Because what the two see are workers, simple laborers or porters, stacking or carrying crates and sacks and pots and furniture and things...

There's enough of them about that Seonaid and Cirion even feel like they're in the way at times as they stroll toward their planned destination.

There are one or two porters, per collection of buildings, making aggregates and stacks of wares, coming out of the buildings. Placing it into piles before them, or occasionally taking something directly from a building to a wagon.

And there's porters also periodically taking things from those stacks outside the buildings and placing them into different stacks or into a wagon.

And periodically scattered about it all, there's seemingly a clerk of some sort every once in awhile, with a scroll and feather pen, checking a list or writing something down.

As the two pause to take in the scene more, they can tell that stuff is definitely being moved out, but there is not particular rush. Indeed there's a good bit of methodology and examination by the clerk figures. And this kind of activity was not going on in the other neighborhoods they passed on the way here, that they could see.

And as you both look around more, you also notice other folk about that are not workers - one standing in a corner over there, a couple peering down from windows, a couple standing in doorways - and mostly they do not look happy as they observe the moving activities. From their sea-weathered skin, and colorful sashes, and hard black batons and curved daggers... you can tell these observers are likely Corsairs.

Moving toward the dock and off to the side of the main corridor, plaza-like area, Cirion and Seonaid can get a view of the Storm-tide. And from this spot, they can see some sort of argument taking place between a clerk and a Corsair, at the gang-plank access point to the ship.

Cirion and Seonaid proceed to their planned false-fishing spot, have a seat and cast in their makeshift lines.

The activity continues around them, and they're able to watch the conflict between the Corsair at the gang plank and the clerk through to it's conclusion, which only takes a minute or so more. After which, the clerk walks off shaking his head, and the Corsair makes a rude gesture and walks back aboard the Storm-tide.

They sit there a bit more with little changing or notable going on, but after awhile it seems as though someone has taken notice of them, as a Corsair comes out of a door from a collection of structures north of them, and starts coming toward them.

The Corsair approaches, scowling, his silken sash swaying, a hand resting lazily on the pommel of a dagger.

Still in stride, walking up to the two, he begins ranting in some Southron tongue. He is making gestures to the general area, gestures to your "poles", gestures to the waters of the bay, and ultimately makes shooing gestures to the both of you, all the while seemingly lecturing you both in a language you don't understand.

The Corsair quirks an eyebrow, and looks slightly confused and impatient as he continues to rant in his tongue and makes dismissive gestures.

He pauses a moment to angle his body back toward the building he came from, puts a couple fingers into his mouth, and lets out a sharp bark of a whistle.

Then just kind of stands at ease, and issues one or two word commands, pointing away from the docks out into the greater surroundings of the city.

No one appears to be taking much away, out of the neighborhood of Easterly Rock, right now.

They're moving stuff into piles on the street. Durable goods. Furniture mostly. But boxes of smaller wares too. The clerks are examining and cataloguing this stuff.

Some directly on to wagons - this, you notice now that you have a better understanding of what might be going on, is stuff that is clearly valuable. Statuary. Fine, tall decorative pots. Yards of fine silk or linen. Clerks are cataloguing these too.

But nothing is getting moved away yet. There's nowhere to follow anyone to.

Following that, Cirion and Seonaid are able to return to the Company with their findings. It has been maybe 4 hrs, and it is about noon.